


Enabler

by viola2909



Series: Stronger [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Despair, Drama, F/M, Heartbreak, Intense Emotions, Pain, Rage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viola2909/pseuds/viola2909
Summary: Utter wreckage befalls Eowyn and Grima as enemies march towards Rohan and any semblance of trust and respect that remained between them is terribly broken.Direct sequel to my fic 'Destroyer'.





	Enabler

**Enabler**

 

Eowyn scrunched her face as the morning rays effortlessly penetrated into her room through the draperies, leaving no inch of her face unlit. Perhaps more than half of the palace was already awake and on for the job, and perhaps lazing on the bed did not befit her station but she wasn’t a contraption and she’d allow herself the occasional late morning repose.

 

Feeling no movement outside, Eowyn closer her eyes again and it didn’t take long to fall into a deep sleep.

 _____________________________________________________________________ 

She had forgotten to cover the sheer drapes with the opaque ones, for once more and this time with more intensity, sunlight directly attacked her face. Finally waking up, she stretched and proceeded to move to the bath chamber.

 

As she dipped herself in the mildly cool water, her mind conjured the image of a certain man, as had become the norm for the past month.

 

When did he begin to see her that way? Why did he choose to then confess to her, as if he anticipated her acceptance, that it was as sure as the cycle of day and night? She did not have the answer. For getting the answer would mean confronting the man and her days were spent just as well without them.

________________________________________________________________ 

 

As she walked towards the main hall, she perceived a strange air permeating the palace. The women scuttled and struggled with carrying heavy armour. Her heart almost raced with the sudden thought of an imminent war but she just as immediately calmed herself down. The maidens could always be cleaning.

 

She walked forward, meaning to meet up with her uncle and siblings that would, at this time, be sitting in the Great Hall. Then walked two soldiers this time, crossing her, acknowledging her with a bow, but a mild one indeed, this validated by their sombre dark faces, bodies covered in weighty armour and heavy steps. They looked straight, did not smile and walked like men with purpose.

 

If Eowyn quickened her walk towards the Hall, she didn’t realise it.

 

She found her uncle, her cousin and her brother sitting close together, deep in talks. Her cousin was frowning, her brother looked angry but her uncle seemed calm. He was only nodding to whatever his son and nephew seemed to be discussing.

 

“Uncle!” Eowyn exclaimed and rushed to hug him.

 

The conversation was broken mid-way as her uncle greeted her with a bright smile and Theodred smiled faintly.

 

“Ah Eowyn, come sit with us,” Theoden smiled.

 

Comfortably she seated herself across Theodred, laying her hands on her lap.

 

“How are you today, uncle,” she asked Theoden beaming.

 

“I am merry, my dear Eowyn,” he replied with a smile but Eowyn was quick to catch his eyes that didn’t show their agreement with his spoken sentiment.

 

“And you, dear Theoden?” she asked looking over to him.

 

“All is fine, Eowyn,” he smiled faintly in reply.

 

“Eomer,” she acknowledged. He nodded in return. The brisk gestures were not lost to the king and his son, who subtly eyed the development, but chose not to speak.

 

Eowyn’s heart panged at his curt reply. Not everything was as clear as a sunny day and her brother had not been very happy at the arrangement Grima and she had gotten approved by the king. His displeasure showed, and while they hadn’t explicitly fought, terse terms and stolen looks only served to make her feel that a war with him would hurt less than the daily insensitive battles.

 

But it was a matter of another time. Foremost, she needed to hear from her uncle the cause of his unhappy eyes.

 

“Is everything fine…uncle?” she hesitantly began.

 

Theoden shared a pointed look with his son and nephew but did not say anything to Eowyn.

 

Her eyes scanned each person as she said, “I saw the maids running with armour and the men are dressed as if they are preparing for a battle… is everything—”

 

“A war it is to be Eowyn, not a mere battle,” Eomer darkly said.

 

Her eyes widened as she turned to look at Eomer at what had been the most he had spoken to her in days.

 

“A war?!”

 

“Our sources have informed us that we are to be attacked by orcs… in a matter of three days from now,” Theodred answered to her, and he internally flinched at the response he anticipated from her.

 

“Orcs?!” Eowyn screamed in utter shock. But it did not take long for it to turn to anger as she realised that the news was kept from her. That perhaps had been kept from her for days.

 

“And no one cared to tell me about this?!” her anger was directed to not only her young siblings but also her uncle.

 

“Am I so insignificant a person to you? Am I no one to this kingdom and its people?” she uttered with sheer rage.

 

Her uncle and her cousin hung their head, silently praying that her rage may retire but it did not seem anymore likely to happen in the coming moments.

 

“Answer me!” she cried.

 

Very slowly, in a solemn voice, Theoden began, “Eowyn… you must not worry. We are prepared for this.”

 

Eowyn, propelled into even more anger, instead retorted, “Oh! So I was not informed because then this maiden would ask to fight alongside you, and you cannot let that happen.”

 

No one dared to negate this, proving her statement evermore.

 

A tremendous sadness showed in her face, and her lips quivered. Broken, she moaned, “Why? Oh, why do you not believe in me? I am your own kin. The blood of Rohirrim flows in my veins with as much vigour as it flows in yours.”

 

But she dared. Still she dared to look into her culprits’ eyes, four of which were still downcast. And then there was Eomer, who to her, seemed to be blankly assessing, as if he had expected this, as if this was what he wanted. Again, ire simmered in her, her conscience unable to take the injustice of it all.

 

With fists clenched, she looked at Eomer, “You have—”

 

“—Eowyn, I trust in you,” he stopped her.

 

Shell-shocked, Eowyn reeled back.

 

“You have showed us that you do indeed possess the calibre to spar, and it is _my_ utter misfortune that I hampered you,” he said.

 

Like cool water, his approval washed over her.

 

“But this war Eowyn… is unlike anything we have ever seen and will ever see.”

 

She was quiet. She was quiet for a long time as her mind thought of all the possible reasons about the war that could make Eomer so sombre, the rabid emotions of a perpetually courageous man, toned down.

 

Softly, she began, “What... have you heard?”

“An army of four thousand orcs is to attack us in three days,” Eomer answered.

 

“Four thousand?!” she gasped, absolutely horrified.

 

“You mustn’t worry Eowyn. We are equipped to battle each and every one of them,” Eomer tried to console her.

 

After the brutal coldness that had passed through her body at the mention of orcs, she warmed again as she processed her brother’s words. They were equipped to fight the orcs. That could only mean one thing.

 

“Oh yes! Certainly! Gondor shall be coming to our aid, how could I forget them?! And the elves? We must ask for their help too!” she remarked, a sort of comfort starting in her voice.

 

Eomer flinched at hearing this, but he did not answer her. Theodred, finally speaking up for the first time, said, “No Eowyn… We haven’t approached anyone. The war shall be fought by Rohan’s soldiers alone.”

 

“What?!” she exclaimed, sharply turning at Theodred, who scrunched his face at the fierce questioning that was to follow.

 

“Eowyn… our soldiers are more than enough to fight the orcs,” Theoden said, trying to placate her.

 

Eowyn shook her head in refusal. Why were they doing this? Why would they risk it all?

 

“But why are you doing this? Tell me Uncle. Please,” she implored, looking at him with pain in her eyes.

 

“This war… dear Eowyn, shall cost us. While with Gondor and Rivendell behind us, victory is assured; our treasure shall be drastically exhausted. It only leaves us vulnerable in the times to come. It is a chance I cannot take.” Theodred said, and with every passing word, Eowyn’s sense of imploration turned into horror.

 

“Treasure?! Depleted?! And vulnerable from who, uncle?!” Eowyn cried, shaking her head.

 

“You think fair Aragon would hurt us? Or the noble Elrond? Why, I think they would have come to our aid without the payment of any wicked fees! Orcs are vicious and enemy to us all. They would have come, dear uncle, they would have come and not said a word, _but it is too late!”_ she moaned.

 

Clenching her fists in frustration, she turned her raging eyes towards the two young men in front of her.

 

“You!” she viciously pointed at Theodred and Eomer. “Not one moment passed without your knowledge. How could you let this happen? How?! Since when has gold counted more than innocent Rohan lives? Do ours soldiers mean nothing?! Or do you too, consider them machines bred for war, _why then, you and I are no more than those blasted orcs!”_ and this time she screamed.

 

“Sister..” Theodred began.

 

“Nothing! Nothing you say can defend you today!” she cried.

 

Theodred hung his head, while Eomer looked towards the hall door stern-faced, not meeting her eyes. Her uncle would look at her and then away, and he did this once, twice, as a blanket of unease covered the passing time.

 

“Do none of you have the answer? Is that it?!” Eowyn said, utterly disgusted. She was leaving neither them today nor herself without an answer.

 

As had been the norm for the past month, the face of the black-haired man once again burst in her mind; in the way she always considered unnecessary and inopportune. This time though, she gasped, brutal epiphany striking her. If no one else would answer, the man would. The man _was_ the answer.

 

Grima Wormtongue knew everything and more. He either planted this horrific course of action in the king’s head or his silence was unwittingly taken as the approval. Either way, he played a hand in this reckless development. He would answer to her today.

 

She nodded, looking at the three men in front of her. Her mind made up, she said, “I will have my answers today. Grima Wormtongue shall provide me with them.” She ignored the ick she felt at using the wretched name ‘ _Wormtongue’,_ some semblance of loyalty out of their ‘friendship’ still etched on her heart, but she was not certain if it was entirely unjustified today.

 

Quick pace and a firm face marked her as she walked out of the hall towards the Advisor’s personal quarters. Any and every feeling that she may have had for him was broken into pieces now.

 

Things would never be the same.

 _______________________________________________________________

 

Furious knocking awoke once more an already roused Grima from his incessant scribbling. Twice, thrice, his door was knocked in quick successions, the urgency even reaching him as grumbling, he got up to open the door.

 

“Who dares t—” he stopped as he was met with the sight of the ever-radiant face of the only human he’d ever hope to love in his lifetime. Oh she glowed today too but her eyes were something more than that. They were singularly focused on him, and he could not help but notice the crinkles on her forehead and the shortness of her breath.

 

“Eowyn, why—”

 

“You snake!” she cried and pushed on his chest, meaning to bring the conversation inside the dingy grey walls of his chambers.

 

Gasping at her cruel words, he stumbled back in disbelief, almost saving himself from falling down even though her force had not been something too great.

 

Clearly pointing fingers at him, she continued, “You would kill my kin!”

 

Eyes wide, Grima began, “Eowyn, what—”

 

“I am not Eowyn to you!” she rebuked, clenching her fists.

 

Flinching at her ruthless tone, Grima yet again began, seeking to placate her, “Princess, what—”

 

“You would kill my kin! Only because I refused you, you despicable snake of a man! How could you do this?! I abhor you!” she cried, every word like a jab at his already broken heart, and tears were forming in Eowyn’s eyes.

 

Grima wasn’t sure what filled him with that torturous fire, her words or her tears. Speaking up for the first time and out loud, Grima began, utterly hurt but also under the influence of a terrible hate that boiled inside him, “Speak carefully Princess! You accuse me of terrible crimes against the crown!”

 

Eowyn flinched, as if she had not expected to be talked back to, not from this man, but quickly reminding herself of the reason that she was here, she shouted, “You influenced my uncle, didn’t you?! _You_ _made_ him refuse help from Gondor and Rivendell! And now, _you_ will be the cause of the destruction of Rohan and its people and _my_ kin!”

 

Utterly broken, Grima shook his head, “No..n-no….”

 

“No Grima, you did so. _You did so!”_ she pointed at him screaming and hot tears fell from Eowyn’s eyes as she sobbed openly.

 

Grima silently stared at the woman he so loved. It was the greatest puzzle how he was even breathing. It felt to him as if every part of his body would give up.

 

Trying to salvage whatever certain death of the heart had left, he began, “Eowyn.. I..I—”

 

“No! Never ‘Eowyn’ to you! You lost that right when you decided to betray my friendship, my trust!” she cried.

 

Hot tears fell from his eyes as Grima registered everything that was coming out of Eowyn’s mouth. Call it his foolish hope or an imagined habit, he could not but use Eowyn’s name each time.

 

“Oh Eowyn! Listen to me! You must, I beg you, I did no such thing, I—”

 

“I hate you! I hate you, I hate you! Oh how I wish I had never met you! You claim to love me?! I do not believe it and I do not want it! Every poison is better than your love! You’re a wicked man and you disgust me! I—”

 

Before Eowyn could any more harsh words, a brute force struck her headfirst, as Grima pushed her, backing her into a corner of the room. She flinched as her back met the grey walls of his chambers with a thud and the warmth of the man’s body covered hers. A tight unyielding grip clutched her arms as she struggled to break free.

 

“Let me go! Let m—” she cried as she resisted the hold on her arms.

 

Quickly, a hand caught hold of her chin, forcing her to look at the man who kept her chained to him. She gasped. Dried tears marked his already ashen face, and the eyes held clear madness in them. She struggled anew.

 

Once more, his hands tightened around her arms, as he spoke in a harsh concentrated voice, “Now _you_ will listen to me, Princess.”

 

Angered at his command, Eowyn snapped, “I do not have to obey what—”

 

“Listen to me, Eowyn!” he spoke again and moved so close to her, so close that their breaths mingled, and the warmth of each reaching the other.

 

Inopportune time or not, Eowyn’s pale neck hiding behind her golden locks did not escape Grima’s notice as he lightly, very lightly, caressed the column. Shivering at the touch, Eowyn cried, “Don’t touch me. Don’t come close to me! I hate you!”

 

Words. Those cruel words thrown yet again by his cruel mistress. Grima did not know how he was still breathing. Every word of hers had only been killing his soul piece by piece.

 

Fists clenching as his heart painfully beat faster, his hands left her body at once as they then proceeded to rest straight on the wall, still effectively caging her.

 

Perhaps he should not have spoken. Perhaps he should have been kinder to himself and end all his suffering in a moment. But he could not let Eowyn go. Their end was definite but he could not accept it happen this way. He was not a bad man. He was not the dark man the golden people of Rohan made him out to be. Foolish enough he was to have thought the existence of Eowyn’s sweet acceptance but she had already made its fallacy evident. His heart had once been broken before but he was surviving. This however, was breaking his very soul.

 

“Why? Why do you speak to me this way? Why do wish to kill me with your cruel words?”

 

“But _you_ have killed my kin with your cruel intentions,” she venomously answered.

 

“No!” Grima moaned. “I haven’t, I haven’t!”

 

Appalled at his devastating sobbing, Eowyn pushed Grima once again.

 

“You tell me. How is it that we do not have Gondor and Rivendell riding towards us as aide? Why are we to go to war with those horrifying creatures all alone?” she spoke levelly.

 

Silence. Grima was silent. It was known to him that Gondor and Rivendell were not to ride to their aid. While he did not put forward the idea, he also did not actively discourage it. He remained silent then too, just how he was now. Like a corpse had he remained the previous few months, constantly lost in her thoughts and what could never be. He let moments pass by him, be they at the king’s court or at the privacy of his bed and dreams. He was not at his best. The one thing he prided himself on, his wit, his intellect? It remained silent too. No one considered it out of the blue. He was always silent anyway. So he let the court proceed on, and the war strategies made, where while his body sat, his heart and mind were effortlessly numb.

 

“I….” he began but stopped.

 

Eowyn looked at him expectantly. Her expression was no less harsh but this time, she would let him speak. Perhaps for the last time, if he was not able to convince her.

 

Grima shivered to form a reply. How much more could she hate him? How much more could he fall in this seemingly bottomless pit? How much more would he have to be hurt by his never-ending hopes all about her?

 

“I…” he shuddered to answer her. He could take no more of this.

 

“Answer me, please!” she pleaded, in a softer tone, as if she had sensed his nerves.

 

“Eowyn, we will win this war, please, trust me, we will!” he begged, saying the first thing that came in his mind to appease her.

 

Grunting in frustration, Eowyn cried, “Then you played a hand in this! You wretched man!”

 

_He burst._

 

Tears fell freely from his eyes as this time, he screamed at her, “Did I?! _Yes, I did!_ ”

 

Paying no heed to her shocked gasp, Grima continued, “I did because I didn’t! I was a corpse after you rejected my love! I did not eat, I did not sleep, and I did not work because you broke me!”

 

Shaking her head, Eowyn took small steps back, each harder to take than the previous.

 

“What was the court to me, what was the king himself to me, when my soul ceased to function! So yes Eowyn, you made me a corpse that could do nothing but moan your name! Oh I was present at the court, I was, I stood there dutifully, but I did not speak a word. Oh war strategies formed in front of me but I did not speak a word because then only your name would come out as a starved whisper, _you cruel, beautiful love of mine!”_

Again. Again was there his solemn confession of love. Again there was what she had been desperately trying to forget. The same love whose intensity and single-mindedness scared her. Like a ghost it appeared over and over, in front of her and inside her mind and her heart would do nothing else but pound harder. Both were beyond her control.

 

“I…” she began but stopped, suddenly not so sure of what she could say at that very moment.

 

“You don’t have words, dear Eowyn?” Grima softly asked her. “I have been the same since that fateful day. I don’t have words Eowyn, merely this poisonous hope, that is yet to make a dead man out of me, that you will be mine.”

 

She flinched at the ways his eyes intensely bored into hers, his tone very much the sweet caress of his love on her body, perhaps a mark of how he’d always look at her, how he’d always talk to her.

 

But these things did not matter. They affected her but for her own sanity, she’d overlook them now.

 

“Your love for me will not save Rohan,” she spoke to Grima, a slow harsh voice daring him to defend himself.

 

Grima closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. It was only a short period of quiet between them; to Grima and Eowyn though, it seemed like an eternity and when Grima opened his eyes, he spoke as if a strong epiphany had struck him.

 

He spoke not, but stated with a calmness and confidence that made him seem a new man all over; so unlike the chaotic heart-broken man he had seemed to Eowyn for the whole of their dispute.

 

“But my letter will.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is the third part to my series 'Stronger'. I do have an idea, as to where the story will go next but I haven't thought majorly about it. There's some time before I write it, if I do, it will be the fourth part of this series.


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